


The Offspring of Fiction and Love

by The_Inebriated_Literary_Virtuoso



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Declarations Of Love, Fake Character Death, IN SPACE!, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Matchmaker TARDIS, Past Drug Addiction, Romance, Slow Build, Space Husbands, Time Travel, Timeline Shenanigans, Wholock, precious dorks, the doctor meddles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2411783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Inebriated_Literary_Virtuoso/pseuds/The_Inebriated_Literary_Virtuoso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor meets the enigmatic Sherlock Holmes and his companion, John Watson. Through a few trials, tribulations, and a lot of bad references The Doctor helps both men realize what the universe is without them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Manipulation of Your Eyes

**_In the warm New York 4 o'clock we are drifting back and forth_ **   
**_Between each other like a tree breathing through it's spectacles._ **

* * *

****

When the Doctor had first seen the man it had been fleeting. He had been busy, average day of saving the universe and all, and he had seen the man run past him in his peripheral. In tow had been a short yet sturdy man in a jumper and for some reason the Doctor had seen them, had seen what they might have to offer. They laughed as the wind rushed past their ears, feeling the excitement of the chase.

The Doctor walked back into the Tardis, watching them run and he was oh so very tempted to follow them. Which he did.

The Tardis whooshed and flew as it kept on track with those two very strange men.

He landed and when he did he crashed.

“Oh, yes, this will be good!” He exclaimed as he hopped out of the Tardis. He squinted when he looked at the sign on the street corner that read Westminster.

He looked over to find the man in a long coat and his short companion walk through a black door labeled 221. The Doctor strolled along the street leisurely before walking down it again and knocking on the door.

“Oh hello, dearie! Are you here for Sherlock?”

The Doctor smiled at her. “Hello, miss. And is that the tall bloke’s name?”

Mrs. Hudson smiled cheerily. “Oh yes, that is him. Are you here for business?”

The Doctor saw the door to 221B cracked a smidge and he walked towards it. “You could say that.” He said as he slowly walked up the stairs.

“John! The Kettle!” The Doctor heard a deep baritone voice yell from behind the cracked door.

He waited a moment until he heard to hear music loudly protrude from the door. He pushed it open softly and the man who played the violin avidly stood facing the window.

“What your housekeeper must have to put up with in the late hours of the night.”

The violin promptly stopped and Sherlock turned to stare at the stranger in his flat.

“She’s my landlady, not my housekeeper.”

The Doctor laughed, having seen through the screen in the TARDIS all the times that statement had been uttered. Sherlock despised that he laughed as though he had a secret.

“Oh, I bet.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the intruder. Hair; flat, no time to prepare. Nice suit; roomy, he moves often. Red tennis shoes; lots of running. Forehead creases; stress.

“Who are you?”

The Doctor smiled at him. “Name’s The Doctor.”

“Doctor Who.” A voice said in shock behind them.

The Doctor turned around and grinned at John. “Ah yes, that’s the clever bit.”

John’s mouth floundered. “But you. . . I. . .”

Sherlock looked between them rapidly, no noticeable correlation in their acquaintance. He was frustrated by that.

The Doctor smirked at John. “So you’ve heard of me?”

John nodded silently, his mouth still open.

“Shut your mouth, John. Surely you’ll dribble.” Sherlock shot at him.

The Doctor turned to Sherlock. “Then he can tell you everything. And I think you’ll want to follow me.”

The Doctor began to walk away down the stairs and his coat flared out behind him, trailing as though never able to quite catch up.

Sherlock began to move for his coat and gloves. John stopped him on the stairs.

“Sherlock! Don’t do this. I’ve seen him in the telly. He’s not. . . I mean. . . Sherlock there’s just no way. He’s a space time traveler. Sherlock, he can’t be real.”

“Obviously we were just talking to him, John. So that can’t be true.”

And before John could protest anything else Sherlock flew out of the flat building and right at the corner stood a big blue police box. The Doctor leaned out of it with a smile on his face and something about it made Sherlock want to leave behind all that he knew, all that he hid, all that he could not have. It made him feel normal, as he did before those days in his youth when the world had been simple and accepting.

“What do you say, Mr. Holmes? Want to touch the stars?”

Sherlock stood stock still until he held up his hand. “Just a moment.”

The Doctor smiled again. “We have all the time in the world.”

Sherlock smirked as he sprinted to where John stood in the door way of 221B looking at the Doctor with supreme suspicion.

“Sherlock, what’s wrong?” John looked over his body.

“He’s offered to take me. We could touch the stars and the sky, John. What do you say? Come with me to the stars? It could be dangerous.”

John looked over at The Doctor. He remembered all those episodes on the telly, remembering Harriet mocking him for his fictional fetish, and he mostly remembered those days as a child when he had promised himself that if he ever got offered the opportunity, he’d fly away. It was idealistic, if he was being honest, an outlet for his desire to leave a broken home, but it didn’t matter. As long as they had cable, wherever The Doctor went, John Watson was not far behind.

“God, yes.”

They both flew into the police box and John grinned when Sherlock stopped right at the entrance. John touched the control panels gingerly and The Doctor grinned. “Would you like to take it for a spin, Dr. John Watson?”

John gave him a wide and unabashed grin, his childhood reliving itself.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He lowered the levels and buttons and Sherlock appeared next to him.

“This spaceship is the most brilliant thing I have ever encountered. And I’m bored.”

The Doctor looked at him and scoffed. “How can you be bored?!”  
Sherlock shrugged. The Doctor looked at him before he turned quickly to John.

“Hold down the fort, will you, John? I have something I need to show Sherlock.”

John smiled at him. “Yes, sir.”

The Doctor walked down the only hall opening and looked back behind him. “Well don’t just stand there, come along, Sherlock.”

They walked down a hall Sherlock could have sworn had not been there a minute ago.

“It’s telepathic,” The Doctor explained, “whatever place I want to go to it takes me there.”

Sherlock hummed.

They kept walking until The Doctor showed him a lab full of gadgets and tools and soon Sherlock was completely ignoring The Doctor in favour of a lab table and a mysterious liquid from a planet in the Orion cluster.

The Doctor walked backed to the control panel room and John stood exactly where he was and smiled at him.

The Doctor grinned. “So you say you’ve heard of me. Can I ask where from?”

John looked at the main tower of the Tardis. “On Earth there’s this show about you. It talks about your adventures. I’d know that blue box anywhere.”

“And how long has it been airing for?” The Doctor inquired.

“Fifty years, but I’ve been watching it since the seventies.”

The Doctor whistled in surprise. “My, my, that’s quite a long time. I take you you’re a big fan of my work.”

John nodded vehemently. “Yes, since I was a kid.”

The Doctor grinned. “So you wanted to see the stars?”

John looked at the console, with all its buttons and levers and trinkets and tronkets and gizmos. The whirring that, to him, had become a comfort.

“More than anything.”

The Doctor opened the doors to the Tardis and John gasped.

Outside of the doors stars were dying and being born, comets raced by, meteors crashed aimlessly in space, and several suns burned together.

John Watson saw the universe with his eyes, dying and living and expanding and exploding all at once, creating a symphony of life he had yet to even fathom or contemplate.

“It’s. . . .” He had no words for what it was.

“Life altering? Perspective changing? Unquantifiably amazing?” The Doctor provided.

John nodded as he watched the stars before him float on as though they were sentient clusters, all deemed worthy of a purpose. He was part of this, of this vast whole that was never ending and unfathomable.

“I never thought I’d see this.” John said softly as he leaned out and tasted the stars.

The Doctor leaned against the threshold and gave him a small smile. “Why would you? A poor boy with a broken home, forever dreaming of all the places he’d go. This was your escape, your safe place. Surely you never thought you’d get out of your life, much less see the stars. And here you are; small, miniscule, unimportant John Watson tasting all that the universe has to offer for the first time.”

John took a moment away from the stars to look at him. “How did you know?”

The Doctor looked out at the stars with him and grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

 

 

They flew for what felt like hours, or maybe it had been days, but John could hardly tell the difference. He and The Doctor laughed and joked and they gave each other smiles. It was surprising that in such an alien place, with an actual alien, John had never felt more human.

One day they were just getting back from a trip on a planet in the Oberon district Sherlock left to the lab where he had taken to spending time. The Doctor looked at him and then looked at John.

“So what is the deal with you and him?” The Doctor gestured and grinned.

John raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean as if we’re a thing?”

The Doctor raised his eyebrows as well. “Well if you say it’s a thing.”

“We’re not a thing.”

“I never said you were. You said you were a thing. Are you a thing? What exactly is a thing?”

“I’m not dating Sherlock. Jesus, why does everyone think that?” John floundered with his hands.

The Doctor nodded. “Maybe it’s because you call yourselves a thing.”

“We’re not a thing.” John said, as he looked at him squarely. “Besides Sherlock isn’t that way.”

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. “What way?”

John shrugged. “He feels things differently, if he feels things at all.”

The Doctor nodded.

Just then the Tardis began to whir and it shook, knocking them both on their feet. The Doctor gripped on levers desperately as he tried to land it more smoothly.

Sherlock came running in, immediately gripping John’s arm as he looked at The Doctor.

“We’re crashing.” Sherlock stated simply over the loud whirring and crashing of the Tardis.

“No shit, Sherlock!” The Doctor shot back, grinning.

Sherlock gave him a smirk as he flitted across the control panel, trying to avoid a disastrous crash.

 

When they crashed they were all equally surprised to find that they did not crash on an alien planet, but in East Sussex.

“Sussex?! What could we possibly need in Sussex?” The Doctor said as he squinted out at the landscape.

“What year is it, Doctor?” John inquired.

The Doctor pulled out his Sonic Screwdriver and waved it around whimsically before he frowned.

“East Sussex, 1984. This was an unremarkable year, nothing terrible, no aliens, no evil humans. What could it possibly be?”

Having not heard from him at all John and The Doctor looked over at Sherlock, who seemed to be looking on in a state of shock, disbelief, and mainly horror.

“I was eight.”

“Sorry, didn’t hear that, what?” The Doctor asked.

“This is my childhood. I was eight.”

John looked around at the relatively nice looking homes that were as generic as they were big, which is to say, they were very generic and very big. John looked at The Doctor.

“What day is it?”

The Doctor scanned the area with his Sonic once again. “October 13th, 1984.”

“Why are we here, though? Why this specific day?” John asked.

The Doctor spun around and smirked at the Police Box. “Oh, old girl, you certainly have plans for Mr. Holmes don’t you?”

The Tardis whirred and The Doctor chuckled.

John looked over and noticed the woods nearby. While The Doctor and Sherlock began to speak quickly about what may be here John noticed a mop of black hair peak out from behind a thick trunk at the end of the forest. He gasped before the little mop began running off. John chased after him immediately, leaving The Doctor and Sherlock to shout after him in worry. He followed the boy as he ran through the deep underbrush of the forest.

“Hey! Wait! I’m not here to hurt you! Come back!” John called after him.

The boy slowed down, but ducked somewhere and John did his best to find him.

When he did find him he was hidden inside a log. John tried to be as nonthreatening as possible, calmly offering his hand.

“Hello, I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“Yes you are! Everyone wants to hurt me!” The little boy cried.

“I swear I’m not.” John said passionately.

The little boy must have seen his honesty because slowly he came out and sat next to John against the tree stump. The little boy was slightly pudgy, with rosy cheeks, and his legs seemed sturdy and nimble.

“I’m John Watson.” He offered, instilling trust so that he might get information from this boy. He was already more than positive that he was Sherlock.

“’m Sherlock Holmes. But I don’t like my name.”

“Why is that?” John asked softly.

“Because Myc always calls me Sherly, and he’s mean and I hate him.” The little boy grumbled as he crossed his short arms.

“Well I’m very sorry, Sherlock. But I like your name.”

“You do?” The little boy said as he looked up at him with wide eyes.

John nodded quickly. “Oh yes, only the smartest people are named Sherlock.”

“But I don’t know anyone else called Sherlock.” Sherlock said softly.

John winked at him. “Exactly.”

Sherlock smiled at him, a cheeky, wide smile but then he frowned again.

“But if Sherlock’s are smart, what about John’s?”

John sighed. “Hmm, quite a good question that. I guess I’ll just be your assistant.”

Sherlock jumped up immediately. “An assistant?! I’ve never had one before!”

John laughed as he groaned and rose from him seat against the stump. “Well I’d be honoured to be your first, Mr. Holmes.”


	2. Chasing Pavements and Your Empty Eyes

The child Sherlock Holmes had been very surprised when the week ended that John Watson told him he would be leaving for his ‘next great adventure’. John had spoken to The Doctor many times after he spent a day with Sherlock and they discussed the result of John’s interference but they discovered it did not hinder or distort the present Sherlock Holmes but made miniscule thing about him change. They were things like random smirks and surprisingly polite words. Over the course of the week in which The Doctor worked to keep Sherlock away from his past self John Watson had grown fond of the boy. John sometimes watched him wearily and sadly as though he wished to conserve him forever the way he stood before John smiling and laughing, before the world must have done him a terrible wrong.

John Watson only abhorred the discussion he had to have with Sherlock when the time came where he had to leave in the Tardis.

They sat at the place with the hollow log when John told young Sherlock that he must go away.

“Sher, I have to go away now.”

The boy looked up at him with wide eyes. “But you just got here! We have so many ‘speriments we need to do!”

John felt terrible, completely at a lost as to how to tell him that he must go. “I have to, Sher. I’m not from this place and besides I’ll come back.”

The little boy’s eyes flooded with tears at his new friend leaving him, just as Mycroft, who was stupid and fifteen, had told him he would. They always left. Sherlock had only wished for a friend. “No you won’t! Everyone hurts me and everyone leaves me!”

John held his hand out, “Hey, hey, none of that now,” he said softly as he crouched to look Sherlock straight in the eyes, “I’ll be back before you know it. I will. I swear to you.”

Sherlock sniffled and wiped his eyes from the tears that fell. John was positive that he never felt as guilty as in that moment, knowing what that man would become.

“Do you promise, my John? Do you promise to come back?” Sherlock pleaded sadly.

John picked him up and for the first time ever gave Sherlock Holmes a heartfelt hug. “I swear on the stars, Sherlock. It may not be soon, but I’ll come.”

Sherlock held tightly around John’s neck until they said their good-byes. Before he left John looked him in the eye and smiled.

“Remember, Sherlock, you are a genius. And that is never a bad thing.”

Sherlock smiled at him before he walked out of the forest. He kept the image of Sherlock, only eight years old, smiling at him contently in his mind for a long `time as he navigated the forest until he came upon the police box. The Doctor leaned out of it before he closed it and walked over to John.

“You did very well, John. He won’t remember you, but that memory will stay with him for the rest of his life.”

John thought of the cold and calculating man, imagined him smiling as his younger counterpart did. He found that he craved Sherlock to smile like that, to smile as though his life was content.

“I hope so.”

 

They both climbed into the Tardis to see Sherlock waiting for John. They stared at each other for a long moment, The Doctor smirking between them. John looked at Sherlock.

“Do you need anything?” John asked in his usual voice of calm.

“Your assistance.” Sherlock said quickly, boring his eyes intensely into John’s.

They ran off, John being pulled by the hand by Sherlock as John turned to give The Doctor a sheepish smile.

The Doctor sighed happily once they were out of the room and stroked the console.

“Oh, my dear, you certainly do have plans for the both of them.”

The Tardis whirred whimsically.

 

 

They eventually emerged together their arms linked, but upon the raised eyebrow of The Doctor John retracted his arm immediately. He walked over to the console to stand next to The Doctor as though he unaffected.

John smiled at him. “Where are we off to now?”

The Doctor smiled and held his hands up in surrender. “I’m not choosing this time. You’ve seen that human show enough to know how to fly this thing. You are our captain now, doctor Watson.”

The smiled John gave him was wide and unabashed. The control to decide where he wanted to go, in the vast universes that they had access to, he was able to go anywhere. The possibility was daunting, but it was amazing and John smiled up at the pole that held the consciousness of the Tardis.

He stroked it. “Hello. I’ve traveled a long way to meet you.”

It whirred and John gave a light-hearted laugh.

The Doctor had slowly walked away and where Sherlock watched him from a distance The Doctor stood next to him.

“Do you enjoy watching him when he’s like this?” The Doctor smirked.

Sherlock squared his shoulders. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

The Doctor snorted. “I’m sure you’re not the kind of man to be so obvious about his lies.”

Sherlock turned to him and narrowed his eyes. “And what kind of man do you think I am, Doctor?”

The Doctor rocked in his heels before pursing his lips and staring at Sherlock. “Well, Sherlock, I think you’re a bit confused. That you’ve traveled a very long way from home and you’re lost.”

“Well we are traveling through time and space.” Sherlock said in a mocking tone.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Well then what did you mean, Doctor?”

The Doctor looked back and forth between the smiling ecstatic John Watson and the enigmatic Sherlock Holmes. “I mean that I see you. I see you’re just an ordinary man striving to do the extraordinary.”

Sherlock stared forward but spared a glance at The Doctor. “I’d say you were talking about yourself.”

The Doctor nodded slowly. “Perhaps, but then again you humans are always so lost and confused. It’s hard not to catch that. And, oh, those pesky emotions.”

Sherlock nodded.

“Yes, they are rather pesky.”

“Then why do you feel them?” The Doctor shot quickly.

For a moment Sherlock stuttered. “You are mistaken. I don’t-”

The Doctor rocked on his heels once more. “Oh do shut your mouth if you intend to lie to me. It’s rather pathetic watching you deny it.”

Sherlock paused and glanced at John Watson. That simple motion had been the fatal mistake that The Doctor spotted. When being pressed Sherlock looked to John, not for conscious comfort but because it was developing. Surely Sherlock was aware of it, but John Watson was a bit slower on the uptake.

The Doctor spoke in a lower tone. “I see the way you look at him. He’s a hero, a war hero, and you idolize him for his courage. I mean, that is to say, who wouldn’t? I think John Watson is an honourable man. Definitely a person like you and I needs.”

Sherlock looked after John Watson. There had never been moments of attraction, but inexplicably he slowly began to feel more than kinship for his companion. Something had shifted long before any of this space travel had happened, something inexplicable and inexorable; something that he stifled and locked away behind doors in his mind palace. Having it brought up by what looked like a seemingly regular man had been a concept he had difficulty processing.

Sherlock looked at The Doctor. “You won’t tell him.” It wasn’t a question, Sherlock had already deduced that The Doctor was talented at keeping secrets.

“Oh no,” He drew out the o’s in each word, “that’s not my job. You’ll do it. When the time comes. It’s only right. Besides, never was one to butt in.”

“Except all the time.” Sherlock smirked.

“Eh, some times.” The Doctor shrugged as he gave Sherlock a smile that said he quite frankly did it more often than sometimes.

The awakening of his repressed emotions left him in a state of awe as The Doctor had been the very first to ever be capable of manipulating Sherlock’s psyche in a positive way.

“You are positively fascinating, Doctor.” He said as he watched John Watson laugh brightly.

“And you, Sherlock Holmes, are destined to be a good man.”

 

 

 

Several minutes after their talk the Tardis whirred and suddenly they landed, sending all three men crashing to the floor of the Tardis.

John looked over at The Doctor. “I swear I don’t know how that happened.”

The continued whirring was signal to The Doctor that once again the Tardis was getting into timeline shenanigans.

There was something different in the atmosphere when all three men stepped out of the Tardis and onto the streets of London once more.

The sky was grey, as it constantly was, but the melancholy mood seemed tangible. Something had disturbed London greatly, something had shook it down to it’s core and reflected it in the form of a thin film of a feeling that seeped beneath their skin.

“What happened?” Sherlock asked.

The Doctor nodded his head. “It’s the year 2016. Something’s happened. The sonic says it’s January 17th. I don’t know.”

“Where are we?” John asked.

No one answered him as he spun around, looking for any indication of a location. Both Sherlock and The Doctor froze.

“What is it?” John asked.

Sherlock and The Doctor only stared at the building across from them but it was so nondescript that John had ignored it at first.

“Why won’t anyone answer me?!” John snapped.

Sherlock only pointed to the building with his slender finger.

John looked once more.

His old bedsit.

Or perhaps it was his new bedsit.

The Doctor spun around and grabbed him by the shoulders.  “Okay, all right. So I need to take you away, John. We must go now. You must never see what happens here.”

John began to protest but The Doctor quickly shoved him into the Tardis and locked the door so that he could talk to Sherlock.

Sherlock turned around and stared but his eyes were confused, slightly anxious.

The Doctor sighed. “Something here. You have to change something here. Something is wrong with John Watson and it’s in that bedsit. I need you to do this, Sherlock. I cannot do it because I’m not part of this story. But you are, and you must succeed.”

Sherlock nodded silently.

The Doctor slipped into the Tardis quietly and Sherlock let out a shaky breath. The implications of his decisions had never been more important than they were in this moment; because although he didn’t say it, Sherlock knew that today London would lose one of the greatest men to ever live. John Watson.

 

Sherlock walked quietly up to the flat that had been labeled as John’s. He knocked on the door and all his motions felt more mechanical than usual. When there was no answer he went in and found that the bedsit was empty. He thought of all the things this could have meant but quickly went through all possible options. He promptly ran to the roof, his coat tails trailing as always.

When he arrived to the rooftop he saw a man standing on the ledge of the roof.

“John?”

The figure froze.

He turned around slowly and let out a deranged laugh. “Oh god, you’re a ghost.”

Sherlock nodded his head. “No, John. I am very much alive.”

The tears that were obviously flowing down John’s aged face continued to flow. “You’ve been dead for five years.”

Sherlock nodded his head again and slowly inched close to him. “No, I’m right here. I am standing right here talking to you, John. Come off the ledge, then I can prove it.”

John nodded andlooked backover the ledge. “No. You’re a figment ofmy imagination.Created as mybody’s last self-conscious way of saving itself. I know you’re not real. I am going to jump just like you did, and then we’ll both be together wherever the hell we end up.”

Sherlock felt bile and panic rise in him. He’d done this? He had jumped from a building? Why did he not remember it?

“Please, John.” For the first time in his life logic exceeded him and he found that in this situation he could simply not find anything logical to reason with.

John continued letting his tears all silently. “I watched you, you know. I watched your body hit the pavement and I heard your voice when you hung up and told me that you had to, that you were a fake. Even listening to your voice and watching you, I believed in you,” he looked back and there was unadulterated pain there, completely transparent in the pale blueness of his eyes, “I believe in Sherlock Holmes. I swear it. And I loved you. Oh god, I watched you jump and all I thought about was how much I loved you.”

Sherlock felt tears fall from his face unabidden and unwarranted by himself.

“John, come off the roof. I swear I’ll come back. I will come back to you.”

John nodded. “No. I’ve waited too long, it’s been so long without you.”

Sherlock reach out with his hand. “Come away from the ledge, John,” he pleaded frantically, “please.”

John turned around carefully and beckoned Sherlock to come closer.

Sherlock did as he was told, trying to maintain the fiction that he was not crying as well.

John touched his cheek gingerly before holding it in his hand. John smiled and closed his eyes.

“Just like you looked right before your fall. Oh, you were so beautiful before your fall. I wish I could have been that beautiful.”

And just as John leaned backwards to fall and Sherlock frantically gripped him the rooftop door slammed opened. Sherlock’s hands came back empty and he watched the face of John Watson as it hit the pavement. He the crunch of bones, a single grunt, and then a scream. He turned around quickly to the figure that had killed John Watson. The figure that had impaired Sherlock momentarily, letting John Watson out of his grasp.

It was himself.

Seven years older.

He rushed up to him quickly.

His eyes were filled with tears that no longer could be held after watching John Watson land in a pool of his own blood.

“Fix this! Fix this! I don’t know what we did, but fix it! He’s dead because of you! Because of us!”

The older Sherlock looked at him and he slumped down to the ground. He was wordless but the present Sherlock shouted.

“Get up, you fucking idiot! You worthless man! You’re the reason he’s dead! He killed himself because he was brilliant enough to love you! Don’t just fucking sit there! You don’t get it, you are nothing without John Watson!”

After no words had been uttered by the man sitting on the floor lifeless Sherlock ran past him, ran out of the building and crashed into the Tardis.

The first face of concern that mate it was John Watson. John furrowed his young eyebrows and his young and smooth face looked at Sherlock’s frantic face with something that was a mixture of shock and concern.

“Oh god, Sherlock, what happened? What’s wrong?”

Sherlock said nothing but let out an uncharacteristic sob and held onto John as though he wasn’t real. Albeit John loved the warmth that Sherlock radiated his shaking body and sobbing worried John more than anything had. The Doctor walked in and immediately Sherlock squared his shoulders and looked at The Doctor with a fiery gaze.

“Take us home. Now.”

“What happened?” The Doctor asked.

Sherlock snapped. “What happened was that you sent me into a task that I am positive you knew about! You sent me there in hopes that it would help but it only made matters worse! You made an incorrect decision and he had to pay the price with his life!”

John watched the exchange between Sherlock and The Doctor.

“Now, I had no idea that it wouldn’t alter his decision.”

“So you sent me to possibly watch?! Is that the decision you make here, Doctor? Is that the kind of traveling you do in this Tardis of yours?!”

John held him back by his shoulder. “Hey now, mate, I’m sure whatever he did he didn’t mean to do it. What was it?”

The Doctor nodded. “ I didn’t know, I swear, Sherlock.”

“And how many times have you sworn your honesty to your companions? Rule 1: The Doctor lies.”

The Doctor sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “This was supposed to help you understand that you needed him.”

Sherlock wrenched free of John and stood towering over The Doctor. “By watching him die?! By watching him follow in my footsteps in every single meaning of the word?! That was understanding, Doctor?”

No one said anything.

Sherlock spun around and looked at John. “We are going home. We don’t need to be here anymore.”

John only nodded. Although there was tangible upset and anger and melancholy in the air the Tardis whirred with a smugness as John rubbed circles of comfort into Sherlock’s back and Sherlock subconsciously wrapped him arm around John, protecting him from a future Sherlock would desperately attempt to alter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay that was an alternate time line so no one is really dead. I will spare you all with the next chapter I am so sorry.
> 
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> But not really.


	3. And Never Did He Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor makes a few returns and some shit happens that we all knew was inevitable.

John never asked about what Sherlock saw. In the weeks that followed he simply let Sherlock keep to himself. The Doctor had left them and promptly afterwards instead of reverting inside of his mind palace like John was convinced he would have due to his silent nature, he simply followed John around the flat.

John had enjoyed it at first.

 

 

John walked into the flat with Sherlock at his heels.

“I won’t press you, but someday, maybe, you could feel comfortable sharing just exactly what it is that forced us away.” He told Sherlock.

Sherlock said nothing so John simply went to put the kettle on.

As he stood at the stove he felt a looming presence behind him and turned to find Sherlock a hair away from him.

“Are you making tea?” Sherlock asked quietly. They were his first words since his rant in the Tardis.

John nodded quietly. Sherlock nodded and John took it as his signal to be relieved of the conversation.

Abruptly hands wrapped around him awkwardly and John, albeit surprised, was not at all adverse to the contact. He hadn’t had intimate physical contact in over two months.

“I’m sorry I ignore your needs. I’m sorry I left those eyeballs in the fridge next to the toes. I’m sorry about the head. I’m sorry about making you make our tea. I’m sorry.”

John didn’t say anything and knew that whatever this was, it had to do with him and that blasted Doctor and his blasted Tardis

John was just relieved it was over and he’d certainly had enough of Doctor Who.

 

 

That was two months ago and Sherlock never let up his contact. The touches were subtle and fleeting but Sherlock constantly shadowed John. John had been irritated at first but slowly got used to the subconscious touching.

It was at the two month mark that the Doctor made an appearance once again; much to the dismay of John and Sherlock.

 

For many nights after the incident the Doctor had pondered how effective it had been to show John dying, or killing himself. He had thought that perhaps the extremity of the situation was necessary but Sherlock had not. But John, the Doctor remembered, oh beautiful John Watson had made a promise; to come back. And come back he would; even if the Doctor convinced him to go alone.

Sherlock was away for a conference with New Scotland Yard when the Doctor came and perhaps that was a coincidence or perhaps, if you asked John after this had all happened, many years later, he’d say the Doctor had chosen those specific days; knowing perfectly well that if he took John away before Sherlock could even notice then perhaps things could move along. In both accounts it sure did move things along; time travel was meant to.

The Doctor, upon arriving to 221B Baker Street two months later was surprised and intrigued to find there was silence outside the door. He knocked and immediately heard someone move to answer it. John Watson gave a pleased smile at opening the door but that smile immediately fell upon seeing it was the Doctor.

Now John still did not know the specifics, Sherlock had been very disturbed by the whole thing and John did not push him farther than he was willing, lest it cause violent or angry reactions. The equilibrium of their relationship had been maintained by the simple fact that they did not talk about those few encounters. John was perfectly content to let Sherlock keep his secrets so long as he never found out about John’s. Even so, something the Doctor had done had hurt Sherlock; something John did not approve of at all, the level of disapproval went far beyond that of simple and close best friends but John did not analyze that enough to care.

He crossed his arms. “What do you want?”

The Doctor gave him a sheepish grin and held his hands up in surrender. “Only to talk, that’s all I’m here for. Where’s Sherlock?”

“At a conference, but I’m sure you knew that.” John said, both sarcastically and quietly.

John moved away from the doorway to put on the kettle and the Doctor sat in Sherlock’s chair. John fought against all urges to tell him to move.

“So what exactly are you here to talk about?” John spoke loudly.

The Doctor drummed his fingers against the armrest, wondering if this was the best way to move this along. Three years they’ll be married, in five they’ll have children. Whether it was a result of this, or something else, the Doctor wanted this to run its course. He needed it to. They would be the greatest partners in recorded human history; their story was one that would live beyond it’s time.

The Doctor looked at the skull on the fireplace.

“What has Sherlock told you?”

John didn’t move and continued to stare at the kettle.

“As much as he wants, which so far has been nothing.”

The Doctor leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you want to know?”

John sighed heavily and balled his fist. “Of course I want to know. I will always want to know about the things he doesn’t tell me. But not this time. Something’s changed, and it changed him, and I won’t force him to think about it. Not if I can help it.”

The Doctor leaned back in the chair. “It was about you, you know?”

John looked over at him from the kitchen where he got the cups for tea ready. “Of course I do. We all knew it was about me the moment we got there. It’s just a matter of what happened.”

The Doctor frowned. “A fluxing point in time, John, is what it was. A point in your history that can change and is always changing.”

John took over the tea and set it down; sitting in his chair and staring at the Doctor with wary interest.

“Can you tell me? Can you tell me what he saw or not?” John asked quietly, concerned in a way that a friend should not be and looked at the Doctor for answers.

The Doctor leaned forward, his hands in a steeple and John bit back, his brain reminding him that the man sitting there was not a brilliant genius.

“Your death.”

 

John always knew he’d die. He had had no qualms about that, it was a natural part of life that he learned to accept in Afghanistan. But to say that he would die five years from the date was almost unreal, something he couldn’t comprehend. He did not spend too long being shocked.

“Why? Why do I do it?” John asked the Doctor.

The Doctor shrugged. “Now that is something only Sherlock knows, but I do know what leads to it. I know what happens to the great Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson.”

John curled and uncurled his fist. He looked at the Doctor angrily. “I haven’t got time for these games, Doctor. Tell me why.”

The Doctor looked sadly at the photos on the fireplace. “In two years Sherlock Holmes will jump off of Bart’s because of a man named Moriarty. You’ll follow five years later.”

John sat back, listening to the words play themselves in his head. They would die. Both of them. They would die and the world would be without them. John founded that the idea of the world not having Sherlock Holmes was vastly more disturbing than a world without him in it. His eyes, unknowingly, began to shimmer with tears. Although they would never come; the army had taught him that.

John let out a small huff of breath in shock. The Doctor looked at him with half pleading half desperate eyes.

“But this can change, John! The future is fluxing as we speak! The decisions you are making right now, that you didn’t make before, they’re changing and you can help them do that! Help them change! Help Sherlock Holmes.”

“You’ll find that as of right now I require no immediate assistance.” A baritone voice said from the doorway.

John looked up, eyes still wet, to see Sherlock and never had he been so relieved to see his best friend.

The Doctor sighed and got up. “Right, of course. I just. . .”

John got up and stood closely next to Sherlock, staring at him for a prolonged moment before they both turned to the Doctor.

John frowned. “That was what you never wanted to tell me?”

Sherlock frowned, looked quickly at John and then back at the Doctor. “Not now, John.”

John’s scowl deepened. “Damn right, but later. Definitely later.”

The Doctor looked at them both, happy to see them together, in one way at least, and sad to go. Their story was not even begun.

“You both have no idea. No idea what the world is going to do with you.”

Sherlock took off his gloves and coat and looked at him, having gotten over his anger and instead replacing it with an analytical perspective of the situation he had been shown several months back.

“Perhaps you can show us.”

John looked at him in shock. “Sherlock! Are you mad?! You said you never wanted to step into that bloody thing again.”

Sherlock just looked at him; that look that said that it was okay, that they’d go through whatever case this was together.

The Doctor left shortly after that, wordlessly, but John never forgot his words.

 

They sat together in their respective chairs in the evening, looking at the fire when John said, “Will you ever tell me why I jumped?”

Sherlock just stared at the fire.

John turned his head to face Sherlock. “Because if we go into it again, if we go with that bloody madman I need to know you’ll tell me; that you’ll tell me things even when they’re bad for me.”

Sherlock looked at him sharply. “Why does it matter?”

John clenched his fist and Sherlock did his least and pretended he didn’t notice.

“Because, Sherlock, it’s my life! I am the one who is going to do it and I want to know.”

Sherlock immediately stood up and reached for his violin. John stopped his hands and growled.

“No, you’re not doing this right now. We are having this conversation.”

Sherlock stared back at him, equally intense and equally angry.

“Why? You never bothered to ask before. It never mattered before he turned up again.”

John frowned at dropped his hands. “Of course it mattered. I thought space is what you wanted.”

Sherlock stared at the fire and then back at him. His blue eyes looked as though they had absorbed it. “We had space, we got exactly what we wanted and I hated it. I hated what I saw.”

John frowned and crossed his arms. “What was it?”

Sherlock turned away and proceeded to play the violin until the door slammed behind him and he watched John walk away. Father from him, closer to another.

 

 

The Doctor didn’t visit them for six months after that. Life went smoothly and cases came and went, none filled with enough intrigue to keep Sherlock occupied for more than a few days. Sherlock still loved John and John still processed whatever his subconscious couldn’t about their complex relationship.

Tea was served, lunches eaten, dates interrupted, and telly watched. All in all their lives receded back into normalcy; well, as normal as one could be when their best mate was a crime solving detective. The one thing that never changed and never went away was what John dubbed The Reason.

The Reason hung over them, constantly looming in the undertones of their conversations and went unanswered every single time it arose.

Greg Lestrade had, within their week returning from their short travels, realized a shift. He saw the partners work together and had come to the realization that their relationship was changing. He saw from their nuances around each other change but didn’t motion to mention it. It seemed subconscious and Greg let it be what it was while they seemed to work on cases with him as diligently as ever.

Mycroft knew about the Doctor, as one of the very few people with security clearance to that information had watched the Baker Street Boys carefully as well. He knew what the Doctor left in his wake and he refused to clean up the mess Sherlock made with him this time.

Mycroft simply kept his distance as always. The Doctor was always involved in that caring business and Mycroft wasn’t one for it.

The day that the Doctor came back John walked up the stairs, it was still morning in the abnormally sunny London Saturday and John proceeded to put the groceries away and the day went on. It went by and John checked the website and Sherlock sat and thought some more and then came the sound. The sound John had been so sure they’d never hear again. They stared at each other, not making a sound until steps bounded up the steps some moments later.

The Doctor’s Tardis had sounded outside and they were both glancing at him as though they had seen him yesterday.

John sighed. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

Sherlock, still clad in his dressing gown, just sat in his chair and looked pointedly at the Doctor.

“What is it?”

The Doctor didn’t say anything. He just stared at them both and walked back out. Strange movements if Sherlock didn’t already know he was trying to trick them into coming with him again.

The door to 221B closed and they stared at each other.

“Do you want to?” John asked.

“Of course I will always want to.” Sherlock said.

John was pulling on a jumper as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Well then let’s go. Let’s see what this madman will show us next.”

I love you, Sherlock thought immediately as he slammed the door to their flat and followed John out to the Big Blue Box.

 

Now the Doctor knew very well that there was only so much he could show them that they would believe. John was used to it, having watched the show and grown up with it, but Sherlock’s mind was purely analytical and therefore it was decided that he’d stick within their planet.

The Doctor took them to the year 2041. It was not very different from the current year, surely there had been some modifications and technological advances but otherwise it had all been the same.

The one thing, the only thing that the Doctor had come back to show them was the books. The modernized books that told the adventures of Sherlock Holmes and his Watson.

The Doctor landed them safely in London and instead of focusing on the era he dragged him to a bookstore, which ironically had more electronic reading material than actual books. He led them straight to the books in an isolated section.

“This way! Hurry up you two, don’t dilly dally.”

John and Sherlock walked quickly behind him.

They got to the novels, which he smiled at. “Aha! There you go.”

He handed each of them a copy of the electronic material.

John looked at him. “What is this?”

The Doctor gave one of the attendants standing near them currency John didn’t understand and he walked out with them.

“Read it. Just read it and you’ll understand why you two are being so foolish.”

Sherlock only stared at the books. “This is how I will be remembered? People will remember us?”

The Doctor smiled at him sadly. “Did you really think no one would remark the tale of one of the most brilliant minds to ever have lived?”

They hopped into the Tardis and the Doctor clapped his hands. “Well there you go! No tears, no trouble! Guess you’ll be flying on back then-”

“Wait.” John said. Remembering the promise he had made.

The Doctor raised his eyebrow at him, as though he knew exactly where he wanted to go.

John looked at Sherlock, who furrowed his brow. John hadn’t wanted to come with him in the first place.

John looked at the Doctor with a very solid expression. “You know where I want to go. I need to see him. Just once, once more.”

The Doctor nodded, grinned that clever grin, and pulled a lever.

They all went crashing to the floor.

 

The Doctor once again was distracted Sherlock with experiments he’d picked up while he had been away and Sherlock allowed himself to be steered away, knowing full well that whatever John Watson was going to face would be faced alone.

John wasn’t sure what year it was, but the same log that he’d seen was there like it had been the last time. John walked carefully, looking for any sign of the boy. He only found a younger man sitting by the log, shaking from tears or panic. John could not tell which one and perhaps it was both. The man looked up as soon as John came near, his ice blue eyes training on him like an animal prepared to attack.

John hoped he remembered him.

The man immediately widened his eyes. John almost smiled, because Sherlock had remembered him.

John gave a sheepish grin. “I know I’m really late but I told you’d come back didn’t I?”

Sherlock went through several stages of emotion just by looking at John most of them consisted of rage or longing. Sherlock said nothing but launched himself at John. John was momentarily shocked for a moment before he hugged back, wrapping his arms tightly around the young gentleman.

Sherlock leaned into him and let out soft cries. “I missed you. I thought you’d never come back.”

John hugged him tighter. He smelled of something, something vaguely familiar that John couldn’t quite recall. “I promised you. You’ll find that I never break promises I have made you.”

Sherlock pulled away from him and the rings around his eyes were suddenly a dead giveaway. The rings, and the smell, and when John looked over at them his arms, his arms were marked. John knew exactly why he was here.

 

 

John was not upset, if anyone asked him about it, no, he was disappointed. He had just been shocked to find that this was when it began.

John frowned at Sherlock as he pulled away. “Sherlock. You’re using.”

Sherlock froze. His eyes looked mildly panicked as they had when John had seen him as a child, as though he’d take off any moment.

Sherlock suddenly looked defensive. “Well it’s not as if I’ve had anyone around to tell me I couldn’t.”

John sighed. “Sherlock, Christ, you can’t be not eighteen yet, why are you dealing with smack?”

Sherlock raised his chin. “I’m twenty-five, thank you.”

John whistled and sighed. “Jesus, you haven’t seen me for seventeen years. You waited for me?”

Sherlock nodded.

John shook that thought from his head before he got sidetracked. “Either way, I know for a matter of fact Mycroft has tried to put you in rehab.”

“It didn’t work.”

John frowned. “Sherlock, why are you being difficult? You need help.”

Sherlock jumped back and John knew then that he’d said something wrong. “Not you too. If you’ve come back just to tell me what to do then I’d rather you-”

John’s frown deepened in anger. “I what? Leave?”

Sherlock gave him an icy stare. “Yes.”

John looked at him and took careful and slow steps forward. His frown replaced with an admonishing face, pleading with him to understand John cared, John wanted him to be brilliant. “We both know you don’t want that. I didn’t come here to act as your father. I came back because you need me.”

Something John will never understand even to this day happened right then. Something that set off in motion a whole turn of events that John Watson, for all his planning and military tactics anticipation, would never fully comprehend.

A twenty-five year old Sherlock launched himself at John and before he knew it his mouth was being covered. By Sherlock’s.

Sherlock pulled away only once to say, “I need you.”

John wasn’t sure when he ended up kissing back but eventually they both pulled away and John wasn’t sure if it had happened but it had, and the evidence was from his shallow breathing and the lingering feeling on his lips.

Sherlock looked at John’s shocked and immobile state and frowned. “I’m sorry if I took that the wrong way. I had assumed-”

“You love me?” John interrupted.

Sherlock looked back at him.

John stared, almost realizing without any words. The gears in his head began to turn and he suddenly stared at Sherlock as thought he’d never seen him before. The undertones of admiration and affection clear in his eyes as though his thoughts revolved around John’s existence. He stared at John with eyes blown wide, made wide by the shock of having so forceful a bond with someone it could have shocked them both.

“You love me.”

John spoke as though it was the most inevitable, most inexorable action to ever have been committed against him.

Sherlock only looked down at the ground but John walked forward once again and stole his mouth. Young Sherlock let out a small noise before they melded together. John felt the movements of them together, melded as if dancing a dance that had been theirs since the beginning of time itself. They connect beyond their bodies as though they world had finally united to bring together to most significant individuals.

When they pulled away and Sherlock looked at John as though he were an idol John held his face in both hands.

“You have to understand that I’ll leave again, but it won’t be so long this time. You’ll only have to wait a few years and one day you’ll meet me but I won’t have any idea who you are or that you love me.”

Sherlock nodded. “I’ll wait. I can wait. I waited seventeen years.”

John smiled at him. “I never took you for a romantic.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes in the way John had seen for so many years. “I’m not.”

They smiled at each other until John sobered up. He looked at Sherlock carefully.

“You have to stop this. I know that it helps you, but you have to stop with the drugs. If you die, everything about you and I becomes nothing. You have to stop and be brilliant. I know you can. I believe in you, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock nodded quietly. Then, right in that moment, with Sherlock looking at John, and John smiling back, Sherlock committed John Watson to his mind palace, letting him flourish there.

They looked at each other and held each other and all the while the newly formed memories were forming in Sherlock’s mind. Nothing, for him, changed. The feelings intensified, they progressed. They blossomed.

The Tardis whirred with satisfaction.


End file.
